


An Issue of Winged Proportions

by Zenithyl



Series: Yu Long [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU - no war, After New Year's, Animagus Harry Potter, Carp Dragon, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Dragon Pearl, Dragon!Harry, Eastern Dragon, Gen, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Legend of the Dragon Gate, No war, Sentient Dragon Pearl, Winter Break, Worship, Yu Long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:29:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4878667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zenithyl/pseuds/Zenithyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fame seems to stalk Harry Potter in every form, starting with his celebrity status.</p><p>His other form used to be a carp—which was fitting.<br/>Now he’s become a dragon—even more fitting.</p><p>Still, there are leaps that go too far… even for him. Had he known going out in dragon form would net him the spot of a deity, he would’ve stayed in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Issue of Winged Proportions

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the direct sequel to A Flick of the Tail Fin that I've been working on all this time. I'm still not completely happy with how it has turned out, but I figured that I wouldn't be able to make it better than it is right now.
> 
> Sorry for the wait, and I'm equally sorry that it's become so messy, but at least it's done now.

_It’s strange how a being at home in the sky doesn’t have wings._ That’s what I think as I stare into the water below me. My reflection is still the same as it has been since I had that change.

I’m used to seeing a golden carp when I’m not in human form, but some Dragon Gate replaced my carp form with a dragon form about a week ago. That is how long it took me to calm down and accept the end result. Now that I have, I think that I quite like my new appearance—and I have to admit that the ability to both swim and fly with the same form is a dream come true.

I never would’ve thought I’d be starting the new year with a different form after so many years of being a carp. Will I still be Gryffindor’s mascot like this? My colouring is still gold and red, but now there’s orange too, plus the bit of green and silver-white I had has _multiplied_. And let’s not forget that I had a bit of black too, which has spread as well—

Merlin, I’m still freaking out, I guess I haven’t calmed as much as I thought.

I curl my tail around myself a bit more and in the process unwind a coil I’d created with the rest of my body. The movement feels smooth and natural even when I’m also floating some twelve feet above the water of the pond next to my house. Some days I feel more like an oversized flying snake than a mythical creature of the Far East.

My friends, predictably, have been very open about my new form. Excited too. Most of the Hogwarts population doesn’t know yet, but my closest friends and family are aware of—and impressed by—the change. They seem to think that it was about time for something of this magnitude to happen—which is of course _ridiculous_ , as I can’t control what happens around me.

Anyway, I have this day to myself until dinnertime; that’s when I’m expected back at the Burrow. I’m staying there since new year’s until the end of winter break, which is when I’ll return to Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione. What will the professors say about my dragon form, I wonder? I’m sort of looking forwards to Tom’s reaction in particular.

A sudden downwards gust of wind brings me down to about four feet above the water, interrupting my thoughts. My reflection is now much closer, and every move it makes—which _I_ make, ultimately—keeps attracting my attention. I wonder for the nth time where the wings are on this flying beast before I catch myself, _again_ , and remind myself of the fact that it hasn’t got any and that that is the way it’s supposed to be.

I’m very tempted to dive into the pond—luckily it’s big enough for me to swim in without overflowing the thing—but the perfect blue sky above me attracts me more right now.

I’ve been wanting to visit the Dragon Gate again, and today is the perfect opportunity. There’s no reason to worry about not finding it—I have been sensing its existence on the edge of my awareness since my ‘rebirth’, as Hermione calls the moment I changed from carp to dragon back then. The feeling sort of pulls me into the direction of the Gate, so I always know in what direction it lies.

‘Mione would say it’s the instinct of a dragon that will always remember where he was born. I don’t really know if I agree.

This instinct, sense, whatever it is, helps a lot when I want to know where the Dragon Gate is, or in this case; when I want to visit there, so without hesitation I whip myself upwards in one smooth movement and positively dive into the sky.

The air’s warmer than I thought, but it’s comfortable all the same. Clouds are rare on my flight and the sun is shining brightly, despite the season. The few clumps of cloud I see are very white and puffy.

All around and below me the land is covered in a sparkling sheen of white. It isn’t snow, no—it’s rime that has settled itself onto the surfaces of the landscape. Snow hasn’t fallen yet this winter, not outside Hogwarts that I know of at least.

The flight is slow and easy. In my mind it has taken only a few minutes, but I know that can’t be true. The familiar mountain with its waterfall now looms over me, calling to me. I rise to the point where I can look down over the summit where the Dragon Gate is. Green surrounding an oval of blue meets my eye; green trees and grass that encircle the clear blue water of the lake.

Unexpectedly, it feels a bit like coming home when I come to a stop right above the surface of the water.

I’m not sure what to think about that.

 _Where are my wings?_ I ask my mirror image mentally, before coming to my senses and batting the fleeting thought away.

Everything looks different compared to last time. It’s the middle of the day rather than dusk about to become night and I guess that makes all the difference—though the surroundings don’t look any less magical for it.

Everything _breaths_ magic. The water of the lake, the trees with fruits or blossoms or gleaming leaves, the grass on the banks, the flowers at the waterside, the very faint wisps of mist—

Wait, mist?

What is that doing here?

There was mist last time too, but I thought it was normal for that time of day. There isn’t supposed to be any on the middle of a day as bright as today.

I try to get closer to the mist to have a better look, but it drifts apart when I approach.

Every. Single. Time.

When I finally give up on chasing the fleeting mist—which has taken a while; I _am_ known to be very stubborn after all—I’m back at the very centre of the lake. I still remember that this was the exact location of that orb that swallowed me.

Even without the contrast between the shadows of twilight and the light of the water, the way the blue of the outer edges eventually becomes white towards where I am is still the same. The colours seem lighter overall, but that’s it.

I peer closely at the white—so close that I nearly touch the surface with my nose—and barely manage to ignore my wing-less reflection this once. The rest of my body twists, curls and re-curls around me in coils, spirals and loops—with my head perfectly stationary the entire time. I’m never consciously aware of it when doing this, but I can’t stop it. It’s like a nervous tic that you can’t unlearn no matter what you do.

There’s nothing special about the white water, I conclude. Other than the colour, it’s perfectly normal. All the water of the lake is very magical though—heck, the entire lake and its surroundings are permeated with magic—but that can’t be it either.

Somewhat reassured, I touch down on that exact spot of white. Its size is bigger than I remember, but still wouldn’t fit my dragon body—unless I curl up the way I had back then, I suppose.

It’s easy for me to stand on the water, I’ve found out. Swimming is easy, flying is easy, but standing on the boundary in between is still the easiest thing I’ve ever done. It’s kind of similar to how it’s easy to walk and to sit, but to lie flat is still best for saving energy.

As I take a few small steps—luckily I’ve gotten used to these legs by now—I catch something odd from the corner of my eye. I turn to look.

It’s a small white translucent ball about the size of a quaffle, floating at eye-level above the water. A smaller version of that white ball of before, basically, except I’m not inside this time. Somehow I get the feeling that it’s struggling to stay visible. As I watch it gets a little more solid, then goes back to translucent and on to faint, blurred enough to look like a tiny white smudge across my glasses—except that I’m technically not wearing any right now.

I stare—that’s all I think to do, really—as the lambent orb ascends ever so gently and in that same pace orbits a few times around me, the fading and solidifying at war with each other all the while. In the end, the fading seems to win and it soon looks like a blur again.

It soon starts lazily floating both up and away from me, waggling, tracing what seems to be a path along the invisible steps of equally invisible stairs. _Who would’ve thought a flying little orb of light could express laziness so well? It seems almost alive, like it has personality, a consciousness—and going by how it moves, I think it’s sleepy._

Then, it stops moving—just for one second—before rapidly advancing towards me with the speed of a muggle missile. Instinctively, I brace myself for impact, but it never comes. The ball of fading light hits me on the lower part of my throat—or should it be chest?—and passes right through without resistance. A brief glow surrounds me, hardly visible, for all of a second—no longer than that—and when I turn to look for the orb, it’s nowhere to be seen.

I’m pretty sure it’s back to where it belongs… Whether that’s in my body or it merely went somewhere else after passing through, I have no idea.

There’s no itch, no burn, no pain—only a light tingly feeling at the spot it touched.

All this has happened without any sound. There’s nothing of the whizzing that you would normally hear when something of that shape or size moves that fast. Even spells make a bit of sound when cast, and I’m not talking about the incarnation part.

But I think that’s enough revelations for today, really.

I’ve had plenty to last me for a while.

Really, I’m suddenly so tired…

I want to sleep.

My muscles feel heavy; it’s a clear sign that I need to rest. So I decide to take a nap here, where everything feels so soothing and safe. Normally I’d dive into the lake and snore the day away there, but I’d never wake up in time if I did. Mustn’t forget dinner at the Weasleys’, oh no.

A short time later, I’ve got a nice spot underneath one of the nearby trees. It’s a tree with blossoms that’s standing very close to the water’s edge. I still can’t figure out how blossoming trees can stand merrily next to others with fruit, those with all-green leaves _and_ the ones that look they ought to be ready to shed their multi-coloured leaves. It’s a seasonal carnival, a mix-up of times, mother nature under a confundus…

But never mind that.

I’ll ask Hermione about that later. She’s _bound_ to have some _theories_.

And down I lay, while my eyes fall closed.

By the time I wake up, I’m feeling kind of heavy. Breathing has become more difficult and I feel a pressure on my body.

 _What’s going on?_ I’m still a bit tired, but I probably won’t be able to sleep more, so I might as well get up and find out.

At first, I’m thinking that I haven’t properly woken up yet. Why else would I see this scene?

Magical creatures and animals. Everywhere.

The first I notice are the fish, merpeople and nymphs in the lake. Next are the many, _many_ of what I think are fairies and other flying beings that fill the air around me. I don’t even know what most of them are called. Then, there’s the shore, where a herd of unicorns stand amongst a group of centaurs, alongside thestrals and what seems to be a variety of normal animals. A flock of pixies zooms by just in front of my face and then makes a stop in a nearby tree to chat with the sprites already sitting on the branches.

If it wasn’t offending to the creatures involved, I’d call this scene a zoo.

Slightly panicked, I avert my gaze form the spectacle before me to glance over my body. I can immediately see where the foreign pressure comes from. A large diversity of birds are perched quite comfortably all over me. They seem quite excited, going by their incessant chirping.

“The great Lord Dragon is finally awake, everyone!”

I whip my head back forward at hearing the shout. _Dear Merlin… What did I get myself caught up in now?_

This time my eyes meet those of a sprite.

It’s small, and _green_ all over—clothes and skin colour alike—with three pairs of tiny fluttering wings. The face is expressive, showing all its joy of seeing me.

I think it’s a she, by the way.

Her reaction is one of utter enthusiasm—I can barely follow her flashing skips from one side of my vision to the other and back and sideways and up and down and behind me and back and far away and then so close she nearly collides with me—

Plus, I can’t get a word in edgewise, what with her endless bubbly chattering…

I have a headache.

Can’t she be—I don’t know, _less loud_?

Dear Merlin, and I thought house-elves were bad? This single sprite is at least five times worse than Dobby, Winky and Kreacher put together.

Her shouting leads the other beings, creatures, whatever, to start making their own sounds. I can’t understand anything because being right in the middle of it means I can’t make out individual sounds or words.

Never mind that I can only speak English, and I only understand creatures of the water, creatures of the air and anything speaking Parsel…

Now that I think about it, I can probably communicate with more beings than I think.

It used to be just English when I was a kid, but I could probably speak to fish since I was young and I just didn’t know because I never bothered to try until that time in first year. I added snakes and their relatives to my repertoire in second year—I still remember Tom’s face when he found out _that_ titbit of info!

And now I have recently found out that with being a dragon comes speaking with most creatures that fly; like birds—I can now have an actual conversation with Hedwig!—pixies or harpies (don’t ask). I’ve tried to chat up a couple of insects, but they don’t seem to be included—or they are simply not capable of holding a conversation, which is also possible.

_Anyway…_

That mob of winged, scaled and/or furry _beings_ don’t let up on their mass _conversation_ for quite some time. Instead of wasting effort in getting them to be quiet enough to speak and be heard, I settle for watching and listening.

And that is how my eyes fall on _that thing_ standing between the trees, near the lake bank.

Stone steps, white stone—or is it bone?—and brown wood columns inlaid with some blackish material, carrying a roof adorned with rough carvings of dragons that arches inwards at the central part in a way that makes the sides stand up in what I suspect is a typical Asian style.

Inside—or underneath the roof, considering that there aren’t really any walls to speak of—on what looks like a raised altar rest a lot of dishes loaded with heaps of food.

I take my time to study the piles of offerings, grateful for my excellent vision as a dragon.

The first plate is filled with fruit: I see apples, grapes, a pomegranate, some curious red pears, tangerines, pineapples, some odd red fruit, pomelos, three peaches, those squishy pinkish fruits that I heard ‘Mione speak of one time, a pair of coconuts, a big pumpkin and a small melon.

The next plate is smaller and its contents are vegetable-related. Stuff that must be bamboo shoots, an onion, snow peas, carrots, a mixed pile of unidentifiable green vegetables, cooked strips of radish and things that look like chives (but aren’t) are on that one.

Then there is an assortment of sweet stuff and pastas. Cakes, candied melon and sweet corn for the former sort, while there’s long thin noodles, several different dumplings and some types of rice for the latter type.

As if this isn’t enough already, there’s more. I spot snails, dry oysters, raw eggs, pork, scallops, prawns, shrimps, chicken, duck and meat balls.

Finally, at the very back I see a pile of seeds, water chestnuts, black mushrooms (both normal and shrivelled versions), walnuts, peanuts, something that I think is called tofu and some sort of potatoes.

The picture is completed by the smoking sticks of incense standing at each of the four corners.

_…Just where did they get all that stuff from?_

And:

_…What were they thinking, making that?_

In other words: it’s a shrine.

Let me say it again; it’s a _bloody_ shrine!

I can feel my headache triple itself, then cross right into migraine territory. If I had hands with which to do it, I would’ve face-palmed in them before throwing them upwards in a plea for help from _anything_ that might be watching from above.

_Why does this sort of stuff keep happening in my life? Who did I kill in another life to deserve this?_

_Can’t I have some peace for once?_

My patience is completely gone by now and I growl loudly to gain the attention of the crowd. I haven’t used this before, so I am just as startled by the low, guttural sound I make as the beings are around me.

I give them a look that hopefully coveys both my confusion and a demand for answers—I don’t bother trying to speak just yet.

“Ah! Great Lord Dragon, please do forgive us our excitement, we are merely honoured to welcome you to our humble lands,” the sprite chirps in my direction while she makes a deep bow.

She tries to make things sound formal and adoring, but instead it sounds like excitement running on a big dose of sugar.

I don’t bother listening for the next fifteen minutes and when I tune in again she’s rambling about there not having been a ‘proper’ dragon around here in a very _long_ time. Apparently, it’s a big deal that I swam here and got turned into a dragon.

The stuff set out in that shrine is for me, as a payment for ‘bringing many good things’. I have no clue what kind of good things I’m supposed to bring, or how I am expected to bring them.

It is not long after that others approach me, encouraged by how the sprite can keep talking without being stopped—or eaten, considering how some had been eyeing my form—by me, and apparently they want things too.

One after the other comes before me, kneel or bow and then chant a lengthy prayer of some kind, something like ‘Oh, praise be the magnificent Dragon! Oh, exalted Emperor of the Sky, please bless us with your presence. Oh, absolute Ruler of the Seas, may peace follow in your wake—’

Yes, something like that. I honestly don’t bother to listen once the first two prayers are done because it’s bloody boring like nothing else I’ve ever known.

Finally, I decide enough is enough once it looks like some of them have the gall to start a second round.

I jump up suddenly enough that all the birds perching on me are startled into flight and the merperson that had crawled out of the water for the occasion fell over in the midst of reciting their prayer. I silently apologise for startling them, but don’t slow down to actually verbalise my apology—too intent on escaping.

The poor sprite is in tears, audible even as I flee the lake and the mountain itself. I don’t have the energy to worry about her, though I’ll likely feel guilty later.

A flock of the fastest of the birds manages to keep up with me flying at top speed, and the most stubborn of them continue even after the rest had to stop or risk falling out of the sky.

They have all fallen behind too far to be seen by the time the mountain has also disappeared in the distance—something that takes not very long with the speed I’m going at.

Thinking back on the entire experience still makes me dizzy and I try my best to shake the memories off as soon as I can. I don’t want to be worshipped or admired—all I ever wanted was to be an ordinary boy with friends and an ordinary life.

 _At least I managed to have the friends part from that list_ , I think then, setting course for the Burrow with a marginally lighter heart.

Moments later my thoughts drift off with the wind, despite my exhaustion.

_Dear Merlin, how I love flying._

My eyes momentarily fall on the shadow I cast on the thick blanket of clouds below me.

_…Right. Still no wings._

_And that is how it ought to be._

**Author's Note:**

> Because I have absolutely no knowledge of what stuff would be typically offered at a shrine, I did a bit of research online. Below is the link for the webpage where I pulled the offers to Dragon Harry from:
> 
> http://www.nationsonline.org/oneworld/Chinese_Customs/food_symbolism.htm
> 
> For those interested, have a look yourself at what I picked out to be offered and what I left out. Note that there where no goblins present at the Dragon Gate.
> 
> By the way, here are the things Harry was unable to name: red fruit (jujube), squishy fruits (lychees), red pears (rose apples), unidentifiable green vegetables (mixed vegetables), chives that aren’t (garlic chives), sort of potatoes (arrowhead and arrowroot).


End file.
